The Prudence Gun Incident

A Jurisprudence matter of crime and punishment

The Prudence Gun Incident

Mrs. Gun had a thing for germs. The thing is, she is repulsed by them. Germs and bacteria are a scourge on humanity, the enemy of mankind. Everyone knows that, especially the madame, who has devoted her entire life to the extermination of said abominations.

She owns the village, everyone in it, the Wanderlust castle she lives in today, the servants and all surrounding farm lands with estate property that stretches for miles in all directions.

The six live in service staff members were loyal servants to the point of and in accordance with their slave like station in life to which they were born into. Limited as that might be, the madame felt obliged to tolerate them with their clear existential flaws. She was compelled to form a bond of trust with them but on her terms. She trusted them on pure faith, based on their common abilities as simple common functionaries, to carry out the ordinary day to day tasks assigned to them and purely on face value, taking into account and factoring into the equation, the fact that it is so difficult to find competent reliable help these days.

She would allow them to live by their own code of conduct, with the low standards common to their kind, but only in their private chambers in their off time, as long as they capitulated to and abide by her strict demands for perfection while on duty working for her. There would and should have been more workers on the property, given the enormous size, depth and scope of work needed to be accomplished on a daily basis but the madame suffered from a touch of paranoia, that led to a dire fear of having too many commoners around her. That might lead to an insurrection or overthrow of her kingdom. After all, she was filthy rich. Prudence Gun, who happens to come from deep pockets, deeper welled oil interests and noble lineage, has power and influence beyond that of the common citizenry.

Two upstairs maids scurried about all day like a couple of frantic mice to attend to her every wish.

The two lower level maids spent their waking hours in the under chambers, cleaning every square inch of every room, hunting down filth and dirt where it might hide and in their quest, desire to fulfill their mission, to maintain the perfect order for cleanliness for her ladyship and land requirements. They worked diligently to that end.

There was a butler and a cook. That sufficiently rounded out the total count of full time workers at the property, which in turn, pleased the madame of the castle for her basic needs.

A team of exterminators, day workers, were hired to visit the estate on the first Tuesday of every month for the purpose of flushing out any small creatures, insects and uninvited pests that might be living inside or outside Wanderlust and in the near by forest and about the property grounds. Mrs. Gun hated birds and all woodland creatures. They were full of germs, bacteria, defecated at will and were known to make unpleasant noises. The madame had no tolerance for noise.

The pest controllers were given orders to shoot to kill any living thing that moved or crossed their path. Creatures found in the castle proper were to be captured then taken out back for summary execution and appropriate disposal.

An army of sanitation workers would arrive early morning a day later on the first Wednesday of each month on the heels of the exterminators, obviously after their work had been completed, to continue the purification process of the property.

The cook was an odd round fellow. He would prepare a series of dainty meals for the madame throughout the day and into the night at her request. There would always be a tin cup by his side on the kitchen table or more likely, clasped in his hand, masquerading as a cup of coffee. In fact it would always contain an alcoholic beverage ready for his use. The madame suspected this but never said a word. She calculated that his behavior served a higher good. She understood that whiskey or bourbon would kill or disinfect the unstable man, to put an end to or at least a control on microbial life that might be living around or in him. Drinking might be a sin but microbial growth is intolerable.

With ultra cleanliness taking shape in natural order as it should, it was the butler who really held it all together. While the upstairs and downstairs girls stayed forever focused working, rotating in their own orbits about their separate mundane worlds, on different levels as well; the butler traveled both realms effortlessly throughout their universes to oversee their accomplishments and guide them in the right direction. His experience gave him access to other places, everywhere in fact, every corner of the castle and the outside world domains.

Mrs. Gun fell ill with fever. She fell so ill that she began to tremble as she walked awkwardly from the second floor one sunny morning, grasped the landing railing, wobbled there a moment, then took a tumble down the staircase, fell head first to the bottom floor, severing her spinal cord in the process, at the fragile neck and head intersection. The central vertebra there cracked. The breakage caused an awful snapping sound and instant death. Poor girl would have turned 94 next week.

The servants watched in horror, listened to the sounds of death as it encompassed her, unfolded morbidly before their very eyes. Mouths opened wide as if to catch a fly or take in a breath as if breathing under water. There was not much they could do to serve their mistress now. It all happened in the splitting of a surreal second, the kind you have no control over, the kind that never returns again with normalcy as you might like.

Her life and wealth came to an abrupt end right there and than, in that instance, simultaneously at that moment, once and for all with that untimely immutable incident. The police were summoned as you might expect. The help were interrogated and arrested on the spot. To their credit, it had been a spotless floor before this came down and spoiled everything. Lower class persons can never be trusted with the truth you know. They are always the subject of interest in such cases and naturally guilty as charged. They are all born liars. Murder is a serious crime crying out for justice, more so when that death involves a superior person, a wealthy famous individual who was loved by all.

The sun came up early that morning. It climbed higher in the sky than usual according to reliable sources. The four housekeepers were already cuffed, processed and neatly tucked away in the local jail where they belonged and would stay, that is, if the law and legal process prevails. The cook and butler would follow soon.

Family members dispensed with the traditional funeral rituals. These are modern times. Funerals cost money. Trash day is soon. Prudence will not mind being taken out to the curb dressed in a plastic curtain. She would agree. It is the prudent thing to do. It is better for the parties concerned to move on to the more important issues at hand. That would be money. That would be land and that is in everyone's best interest. Money is king. Money is power. Everybody knows that.

The butler fingered the upstairs maids, claiming they conspired to drop a piece of costume jewelry, a strand of fake pearls to be precise, about the upstairs landing stairwell prior to the mishap and untimely demise of their employer. Detectives released the butler after taking his statement and hearing his complaint. After all, no one would suspect the butler. He has an impeccable reputation and station in life.

The maids were ushered off to a small gray room equipped with an intense heat lamp light. The servants cried out for mercy and told a string of horrific lies. Agatha, the younger one, caved in after a few days. She had become well done, baked under the intense heat of truth and bright light of justice. Rubber hoses helped to draw out the real truth. Sooner or later her lower class inadequacies would surface, crack her open like a nut and cause her to flower forth her confession into the light of day with raw emotion, about her plans, her pearl antics and ugly motives behind causing the death of her owner.

She was grilled, beaten and starved into submission. She must be guilty. Who would confess to a crime they did not commit? Some have suggested that food might have been a motivator. She was hungry and felt like she might die. Feeble excused like that never rise to the occasion of real truth when it involves someone special like Mrs. Gun. The young servant thought that if she confessed she might live a little longer. This is purely speculative of course. Slaves and their owners are rarely on the same page. Since Prudence Gun is no longer among us to defend herself, we must rely on the integrity and sweet justice afforded us by the jurisprudence courts.